


For Lack of Better Words

by SincerelyChaos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Friendship/Love, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Written for Sherlock Seattle booklet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyChaos/pseuds/SincerelyChaos
Summary: John knows that when the action speaks loud enough, words become redundant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in July 2016 for the Sherlock Seattle booklet.
> 
> Am so thankful that I got the chance to go across the entire Atlantic Ocean, got to attend my very first Sherlock con, be a panelist and see so many people from this amazing fandom. 
> 
> Per usual, pennypaperbrain is responsible for not only the beta on this, but so much more.

 

 

People always want John Watson to express himself through words. John, on the other hand, finds it far easier to express himself through actions. Making his way through life by almost simultaneously saving and taking others’ lives, John knows that when the action speaks loud enough, words become redundant.

Then comes a bullet and a shattered scapula followed by two different infections, and suddenly John’s alive and back in London, the actions and abilities he used to lean on replaced by a cane.

 

 

**I.**

“John, I’m going to have to ask you to stop focusing on my notes - to stop focusing on _my_ words - and begin to focus on verbalising what’s happening to you.”

 _Verbalising_ \- given the right incitement, John would be willing to try, but he’s tired from the two bus rides to Ella’s office and there’s a burning sensation in his leg. Still, he could recite the paragraphs about hypervigilance and dissociation from his old medical textbooks, but most likely his therapist would find the descriptions a bit outdated. After all, it was over thirteen years ago that he memorised them, and while John was busy extracting shrapnel from infected wounds and being woken up by the sound of gunfire, perhaps some ivory-tower academic had the opportunity to scrutinise and update the possible outcomes for the poor sods for those who put themselves out there, trying to make a difference.

John wouldn’t know, as he’s been too busy to update himself on the subject. And now that he has the time, he is all too aware that how you phrase things doesn’t matter.

He can’t tell the words apart from the noise in his head anyway.

*****

It’s the day after they met, and Sherlock almost knocks a woman over on his way out of Angelo’s. Without thinking, John’s on his feet, throwing a _sorry_ to the woman before he too almost manages to collide with her on his way towards the cab.

There's a chase and John's blood is pounding in his veins and he’s repeating the number of the cab’s plate to himself. John's not sure if he's chasing the cab or the thrill, but it turns out that it doesn't matter. After the chase they return to the Baker Street flat, and it only takes one look at Sherlock to realise that the rush is just as important as the case itself. And when there's a knock on the door and their laughter is interrupted by John's cane being returned to him, he knows that he won't be needing it any time soon. He’ll lean on having his dinners interrupted and his adrenaline flowing for now.

 

 

 

**II.**

“When you suggested I come to the other side of the world to meet your old friends, I suppose I thought we had a good thing going, but that was just me reading too much into it, wasn't it?”

Sarah’s upset, but hiding it behind the strained kind of smile that comes with being a doctor and learning to take even the most annoying patients in her stride. John think that that's part of why he gets on so well with her; she's practical and not overly verbose, and at the end of shifts her humor turns darker as her expression becomes more resolute.

Eleven days in a small guest room has apparently had a similar effect. And John’s tried to make up for not having returned the words she offered him a few days ago, but when he tries they just taste like someone else's. That seems like a cheap thing to offer a woman you care for, doesn't it?

John says nothing, and his lack of verbal response is mistaken for indifference.

*****

“Run!” John gasps, struggling to hold his grip on Jim Moriarty long enough for Sherlock to escape.

It only takes half a second, but Sherlock's expression shifts before it once again regains its determination, and neither of them end up running. Instead, it's Moriarty who leaves, which is disturbing, but they’re alive and Sherlock is breathing too rapidly as he frees John from the explosives.

And John will never tell Sherlock that he cares, because doing so would be superfluous.

 

 

 

**III.**

Actions are what matters, and they will always be John’s prefered mean of communication. Still, John is slowly growing aware that they aren’t always enough.

A rare cup of coffee offered to him by his best friend turns out to be nothing but a ruse for experimentation with potentially damaging drugs, and after that, further offers of coffee simply don’t do the trick when it comes to showing remorse. In the end, the worst thing about the whole fake hound disaster is not the dissociation and panic, but the fact that Sherlock watched it as it happened. John doesn’t let himself either snap or yell, though the bastard deserves both. He's not sure what words would emerge if he did.

Sherlock is quick to catch on, and for once, he lets someone else's silence affect his behavior. Sherlock waiting for John instead of leaving without a word, and doing it more than once, is a nice change, but John finds that in this case, Sherlock’s vague gestures are not sufficient. After all, is Sherlock even capable of feeling remorse?

The answer - which takes the form of a statement - comes in a taxi, two days after their return from Baskerville, when Sherlock suddenly breaks the heavy silence.

“I may have miscalculated the effects of my experiment. It turned out to have some unfortunate side-effects, and I'm yet to determine how to estimate the extent of the… consequences.”

There's a second of silence, then Sherlock is once again tapping away on his phone.

“You need any help with that?” John asks neutrally, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on the buildings that flash by outside the window.

Sherlock looks up briefly, offering a small nod that John catches in the window reflection.

“Alright, then,” says John, surprised to find that he feels no need for further amends. For once, words seems to have done the trick, and John feels the resentment of the past two days slowly starting to dissipate.

Actions speak loudly, but between two men with little skill in the social niceties, an admission of uncertainty speaks louder.

  
It's enough to lean on, for now.

 

 


End file.
